


feints

by spookykingdomstarlight



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Bitter Exes, Future Fic, M/M, Past Relationship(s), Poe Dameron Is Captured But He Doesn't Go Down Without A Fight, Post-Star Wars: The Last Jedi, Snark, Unhappy Ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-11
Updated: 2018-03-11
Packaged: 2019-03-29 16:36:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,009
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13930989
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spookykingdomstarlight/pseuds/spookykingdomstarlight
Summary: A sick, forced smile pulled at the corner of Poe’s mouth. There was a time when Poe would’ve been pleased with this kind of scrutiny, when his flirtations would have been genuine and well-intentioned. “What is it with you First Order types and wanting people on their knees? Or am I just that special?”





	feints

“You know, nothing about the situation here surprises me,” Poe said, conversational, as a stormtrooper shoved him toward the center of the spare, dark room that was Supreme Leader Ren’s lair. Every inch of it looked polished to within an inch of its life, strangled of anything that might indicate someone actually used it. It tried a little bit too hard to be cool and unaffected, distant and unreachable. It was so very much like the man that Poe used to know that he had a hard time finding a way to his own cool disaffection for a moment. “Have you ever heard of a personal touch? Really putting your stamp on the place?” His gaze sharpened. “This is just so sad and empty is all. You used to like calligraphic scrolls if I remember correctly. I bet a few of those would really brighten the place up.”

For a long stretch of seconds, this stranger who wore the face of someone more dear said nothing. Did nothing. He faced the other direction, motionless, barely present.

And maskless. It made Poe’s heart speed up in ways that his terror upon seeing Kylo Ren, the First Order’s faceless enforcer, on the _Finalizer_ could not.

Masks made it easier for everyone to pretend.

From the back, he looked no different than Poe recalled, dredging up their past from the depths of memories Poe would’ve paid good credits to forget entirely. He was a little broader maybe, but that was it.

He’d always been tall and he’d always preferred his hair on the long side. Poe could see that nothing hadn’t changed in that respect, though pieces of him missed the braids Ben sometimes woven into his hair.

Ben—no, Kylo Ren, he would never be Ben again, not even General Organa saw a way through for him in this life, not anymore—turned. “You’ve just been captured,” he replied. His voice was so much softer without the helmet to modulate it to hell and back. It also bled enough casual anger that Poe almost recoiled at the sound of it. It was unexpected for how familiar it was. Surely this part of him would have been alien. But no, it, too, was so much like the man he’d known. The only difference now was he didn’t try to be better. Do better. He’d given up and given in. Poe didn’t know he could hate this creature who wore someone else’s face anymore than he already did, but here he was. And oh, how he did. “Do you really want to discuss the décor?”

Poe tried to shrug, but Ren’s goon had slapped a pair of binders around his wrists and pulled them tight behind his back the minute he’d set foot on Ren’s personal ship. Or been brought aboard. One or the other. Did it matter who was responsible now? Who’d wanted it to happen? Either way, it was hard to project nonchalance with your shoulders pulled behind and bunched up by a set of unforgiving cuffs. And those cuffs only seemed to tighten even further as Ren studied him. It was probably only an invention of Poe’s own mind, but it was effective enough that he had to squeeze his fists a few times to return feeling to his fingertips. “Yeah, I do,” Poe answered, doubling down because this late in the game he had no reason not to. What difference did it make if he annoyed this distant, furious star? “It definitely needs some work.”

Ren stepped forward, his boots deceptively light against the floor, whisper quiet in the cavernous silence that otherwise filled the room. His gaze flicked between Poe’s face and his torso and his feet.

His eyes were the same as they’d always been.

A sick, forced smile pulled at the corner of Poe’s mouth. There was a time when Poe would’ve been pleased with this kind of scrutiny, when his flirtations would have been genuine and well-intentioned. “What is it with you First Order types and wanting people on their knees? Or am I just that special?”

Ren’s fury flushed his cheeks red, swift to give the whole game away, and he couldn’t bring himself to look Poe in the eye any longer.

Ben never liked having his desires exposed either.

It felt good to strike true because Poe didn’t always remember anymore what being the bigger man felt like. This wasn’t like last time, where Ren could pretend he was the one in control and Poe had no means of retaliation at his disposal. He hid behind a mask, nothing more than a cowering child with a considerable advantage, a quirk of luck and blood that gave him access to something Poe couldn’t defeat on his own, not without time and preparation. Not without a better plan than ‘distract the bad guy with blaster fire.’ Here and now, Poe was perfectly happy to take advantage of every vulnerability he saw. That was why he’d taken this mission, why he’d pushed and pushed and pushed for it.

No one knew him quite the way Poe did.

No one could rattle him the way Poe was capable of rattling him.

Poe had hoped for this, for that exact shade of angry red to march and bleed across Supreme Leader Kylo Ren’s cheeks. That was how he knew he’d win, that Ren wouldn’t see anything coming, not this time, not without the mask that gave him something like perspective.

Poe ran his tongue across his molars, where a tiny, undetectable detonator sat fitted in the grooves of one tooth. He grinned all the wider and winked at his worst failure, content with the knowledge that this all would soon be over for them both. And for one crystalline, perfect moment, he felt nothing but perilous, potent joy, the certainty that this was the right course, that no matter the cost, the sacrifice, it was worth it.

Score one for Poe Dameron in this awful charade.

“See you around, Ben.”

May it be the only score that mattered.


End file.
